Emily & Debris Draft 1

10 Jan


 At the moment Emily is up against some tight uni deadlines so I have tried to rustle something up as a first draft… although I have done something a little controvercial…


I have taken the lyrics Emily Wrote around my Mandella piece and attached them to one of the poems that was in the mix of our initial discussions (those who went to Arvon will recognise it) to create something.


I will obviously need to work out how to edit out the swearing, but hopefully it works as a solid first drafts and I think there can be elements on the Long Man and His Map pieces in the initial ideas stage…




is that the lyrics are kind of the voice of madness and or sanity – some kind of conscious voice that is mocking the protagonist. A voice in the characters head – and I can kind of see a playfulness coming out of that with Emily and I on stage. Obviously Emily still needs to do a lot of work on the lyrics as they are massively un-balanced with the text at the moment, hopefully her doing that will be a good prompt for me to do the next bit of work on the text.


In my head the logic is that there is pain behind the hilarious craziness and I want there to be moments of ridiculous hilarity but also profound pain and abuse…. In these senses I am hoping Emily and I can draw from our wider brainstorming.

 Lyrics are italicised and on the left. 


Lost and Found

I don’t really know

where my hands should go

when I die, when I die.


When I was in prison,

I had this recurring dream

about fucking a crocodile.


How many people will I have to meet before I get bored…


Definitely a crocodile

not an alligator. Because

she had teeth in her lower jaw – that’s important.


At first, I felt shy about it round the pool table.

Not everyone has a taste for fearsome predators

 of both animals and people


But it actually provides a fascinating opportunity to look into the past

my penis feels empowered: a living relic of prehistoric times.


I’m gonna make a little god out of me and be- and be-have.


Crocadiles mate in shallow water,

sometimes in a threshing frenzy.


After a syncronised swim neck-clawing ritual

I start to think about my mother.


(Don’t act like your mother never comes up in the act).


At this signal, the crocodile hauls herself

onto the bank and digs. There is a large crack


Something opens. But what opens is different every time.

That is the only thing that is different I think. Sometimes it’s the eggs

of another man – I know because the blue speckles are too big.


Sometimes the crack is her talons falling off.

Sometimes it’s my confidence falling out of my arse –

When this happens it’s always the consistency of Nesquik

And it smells off.


I will tell you about the eggs –

Once hatched, the young are tossed into the air

(this is my favorite part of the dream)


She looks so beautiful as she catches them in her jaws

(I am more sensitive than your average)

Transports them six at a time to the same shallow waters

Where just moments ago we fucked till our scales scraped off.


When she returns. We begin to argue:

The gender of young crocodiles

is determined by their incubation temperature.


Below 30C produces female young

while above 33.9C produces all males.


The back of my neck is slapped with sun.

Crocadiles share a lot of their cultural expectations with the Chinese.

she’s not happy with 14 girls.


I don’t really know

where my hands should go

when I die, when I die.


She blames me for not digging them deep enough in the mud.

Reminds me of how I lobbed of her talons from Jealousy.

(She also remembers the previous dreams…

often with more accuracy than me).

She says these babies are our future

and now, “Who will protect me?”


In Africa, the Nile crocodile accounts

for more human deaths than any other carnivore.

Seizing its prey at the waters edge.

Gripping and rotating its body

to tear off huge chunks of flesh.

At this point I think of my mum again.

Or maybe the sex at the beginning of the dream.


Sometimes my lover attacks me.

I am dead –


Help me baby help me, I don’t think I can die alone

Help me baby help me, I don’t think I can die alone


wedged underwater on a ledge

or tree trunk to rot for days.


Help me baby help me, I don’t think I can die alone

Help me baby help me, I don’t think I can die alone


A crocodile eats all its prey;

bones, hooves and antlers.

It swallows peddles deliberately

To mash and digest the food.

No man I have ever met has been

So tactical or considerate. Have you?


I’ve been thinkin kinda recently

I should try and live a better life.


Why are you looking at me like that?

Like I’m trying to shag your freezer,

or a daffodil, or your mum? Didn’t you know?


Help me baby help me, I don’t think I can die alone

Help me baby help me, I don’t think I can die alone

Oh, Ohhhhh mmmm.


Crocadiles are the closest living relatives to birds,

chicks, women, whatever you want to call them

They are all primitively terrifying in appearance

And I want them back.


Help me baby help me,

Help me baby help me,

Oh, Ohhhhh mmmm.




One Response to “Emily & Debris Draft 1”

  1. Anne January 11, 2014 at 10:08 am #

    There’s a real sensitivity about the man dreaming about crocodiles, the character I mean, and the brutality of his language adds to that, but I think you can still do that without the swearing – so the addition of Emily’s lyrics works really well with this. I also think that Emily could be the voice of the crocodile if that’s how we wanted to read it. The balance of lyrics to poem is a bit lop-sided, but like you say Emily hasn’t put her bit in yet. I also know what amazing poetry she is writing and kind of nope we can hear some of that in this piece if there’s room for it. Can’t wait to hear it with her singing too, so hope you can get her to post some sound on here.

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